The fiction and fantasy of Chad Anctil

His First Halloween

As the last rays of sun dipped behind the old brick warehouses and shuttered homes along the tracks, a pair of wet, rheumy eyes peered out from a crack between the grey boards, their red irises seeming to glow in the fading light. A dull, raspy voice slipped through the darkened interior, starting out as a whisper, but excitement and anticipation raising its volume unexpectedly.

“Can we go now? Dad, can we go? It’s dark out, you said we could go when it got dark!”

“Yes, we can go.” The deep, hollow voice replied from a darkened alcove. The thing shambled forward on limbs that seemed ill-equipped for upright mobility, it’s body pulsating and writhing in ways indescribable. The thing lifted a cheap rubber Halloween mask, the image of a grinning clown, in taloned claws and began to slip it over a leering and misshapen face. “Don’t forget your costume.” He reminded.

The pair slipped out into a back alley and slowly made their way towards the lights and sounds of the more populated streets. Even enshrouded in their makeshift costumes, a clown and a zombie ninja, they knew to keep to the shadows. On this night, they could pass as humans dressed for trick or treating, but only from a distance; their forms and movements and sounds were still too unnatural to allow for close inspection.

As they walked along they began to see the revelers wandering up and down the tree-lined streets, out in twos and threes or gathered in large groups. There were the usual costumes with ghosts, witches, and pirates, but they were joined by an ever-growing number of figures the pair could scarcely comprehend; Power Rangers and Pokemon and other figures that simply had no corollary in their world. The child giggled at some of them and questioned others, his father explaining the ones he could and shrugging at the rest. They walked along with the crowds now, in sync with the groups that came and went, but far enough away that they drew no suspicion. They never approached houses to collect candy, though the father could tell that his child desperately wanted to. They held back, taking in the sights and sounds and smells of a world cut off from them on all but this one night.

“I like those lights” the child said, pointing a misshapen hand at a flickering jack-o-lantern, it’s maniacal grin askew as if carved by eager yet unskilled hands.

“You wouldn’t have, long ago.” The father said with a smile. “They were different once, long ago, when I was just a little older than you are now. They had power, those lanterns. They were wards against us, and protective charms and spells guarded every house. People had belief back then; they knew of our kind, they understood.”

“Will I be able to get a treat tonight, dad?” the child said, his hollow voice full of hope. He looked up with love into the eyes of the shambling horror that walked beside him.

“I think so, yes.” His father replied, patting the child on the head with a crudely gloved talon. “We just have to wait for the right house.”

As the pair continued their leisurely walk down tree-lined streets, a young girl in a pink fairy princess outfit bounced out from a side yard and looked at the pair. The father froze – this was too close, much too close – but his son took a step forward and waved his trick or treat back at the girl, chirping ‘hello’ in the best impression of human voice he could manage. Amazingly, the girl waved and said ‘hello’ back, then skipped on her way, heading to the next house. The father breathed a sigh of relief and patted his son on the head again, both thankful and proud.

“Did I do good dad?” his son said, yearning for the praise all sons want from their fathers.

“You did very well – she didn’t suspect a thing. That was very well done.”

“Thanks Dad.” The child was beaming under his rubber mask, grinning as they wandered slowly on.

The lights started going out around eight, first one or two who had likely run out of candy early, then others following suit as the crowds of trick-or-treaters dwindled steadily. The father noted a house on one of the corner lots, the last holdout with a light on for that part of the street, and headed slowly towards it. He told his son to get ready, and then waited for the orange porch light and illuminated ‘boo’ sign to wink out before heading slowly up the walkway. As he had hoped, the homeowner noticed them and opened the door with her bowl of candy and a big smile, obviously not wanting to disappoint a child on this most magical of nights.

He showed his gratitude by tearing out her throat. The blood was hot and salty as it sprayed over him, splashing through the eye and mouth holes of his clown mask. It happened in an instant and he pushed the still dying woman into her entryway, closing the door behind them.

“Check for more.” He told his son, and the child nodded eagerly and shot into the other rooms of the house, searching for additional inhabitants.

She was in a pink bedroom on the second floor, still wearing her fairy princess costume, minus the wings and crown, and she was sound asleep in bed. He crept up close, his breathing heavy with anticipation, and began removing his gloves. His father was there behind him now, his mask long discarded, his twisted face dripping with gore.

“Time for your treat.” He said softly, and the child began to remove his mask as well.